All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. June 2010.
Thanks to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who provides the banner and puts up with my comma issues. Much love, hun!
Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thanks as always for turning these around so quickly.
Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Your reviews mean the world.
Let's see how our tortured artist is doing, shall we?
EPOV
Chapter 20
I'm fucking exhausted. Beyond spent. I've painted nearly all day and, now, having Bella here to watch me is just so intense…to say I'm overwhelmed is the understatement of the year. I have never, ever shown anyone my work before it's done, and I certainly have never let anyone be in my studio when I paint. It's like I'm unveiling my soul for her. Well, truthfully, I am.
A myriad of emotions come crashing down on me while we take in the painting, and I try to regain composure. I'm fully aware that this is a monumental turn of events for both of us. I feel elated, like a fifty ton weight has been lifted from me. I'm also terrified that this is all too much for her, and that she could completely shut down on me right here, right now...that thought makes me panic slightly.
I watch her while she stands beside me, studying the canvas, and I wish I could tell what she is thinking. She tilts her head from one side to the other, furrowing her brow, deep in thought. She wets her bottom lip and finally looks up at me, her expression a complex mix of fascination and appreciation…I think, I hope.
"Thank you," she says quietly.
"Thank you? For what?" My heart pounds hard against my chest while I wait for her explanation.
"For letting me see this, letting me see you. I had no idea," she says quietly.
"It's not something I let people see, normally…well ever," I admit.
"Why did you let me? I mean, I'm nothing…I'm not even…" Her voice trails and she stares down at the floor.
The pent up emotion from the last several hours surges out of me, and I cup her chin with my paint splattered hand, tilting it up to me. "You're everything, Bella," I say firmly. How can she not see that after what I've shown her?
Her eyes glass over slightly as we stand in the studio, the thick smell of paint saturating the air, Strauss swirling from the iPod around us. She takes a deep breath and a step back from me. I've learned to recognize the signs of when she's starting to feel uncomfortable, and I don't want to push her, so I decide a change of scenery is in order. If I'm being honest, I could really use a break and a glass of wine.
Suddenly, she cocks her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. I follow her gaze to the mangled painting I was engrossed in just before she arrived. Goddamn Jane. She walks over to it and stares intently before turning back to me. "Is this…about me?" she asks, looking concerned.
"No!" I shout, causing her to flinch back slightly. "Remember, I said that today was intense?" She nods her head. "Jane came to see me after she saw you guys at the coffee shop."
"Oh…"
"Jane thinks she owns me, that she can fucking waltz in and dictate what I do. She pisses me off."
"I can see that. Remind me not to get on your bad side," she remarks, smirking at me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "What is Jane to you, exactly?"
I take a deep breath, and even though I really dread telling her, I know I need to. I don't want to hide anything from her. "We used to…" My voice trails while I shake my head. I can't believe I ever let myself get involved with Jane. Fuck, I'm an idiot.
"I get it. It's ok," she says sadly, starring blankly at the painting.
"No. It's not ok, Bella. It was a long time ago and it's over, alright?" I cross the room and turn her from the painting, gripping her shoulders tightly. "It's over." My eyes search hers, looking for some sign that she believes me, but I'm getting nothing, and I recognize that she's shut down on me again, although I can't really say I blame her this time. "I'm starving. Come on." I put my brush down on the desk, switch off the iPod, and hold my hand out to her. She looks down at it tentatively. "I promise not to make you fall down the stairs this time," I say, smirking at her.
She returns my smirk and puts her tiny hand in mine. The calming effect seems to be instantaneous, and I feel myself relax, closing my hand around hers. I descend back down the stairs with her following me, careful to not go too fast. The last thing I want is a repeat performance of the fall from hell. "How is the bruise on your leg?" I ask as we reach the bottom of the stairs.
"It's sore, but I'll live."
I nod and she stands beside the counter. "Fuck, you must be thirsty. You've been standing there not moving for almost three hours." I reach into the fridge to get her a bottle of water.
"Three hours?" she gasps, her eyes wide.
"Yeah, I told you. I'm emotional when I paint. I kind of give myself over to just feeling. I tend to loose track of time," I admit.
"Clearly. Do you always paint with such…harsh music?" she asks curiously.
"You think some of that was harsh?"
"You don't?" she questions.
"No, I wouldn't say it's harsh. Emotionally charged, sensual, and intense maybe," I offer, intrigued at her opinion of my music choices.
"So, kind of like you, then?"
"Is that how you would describe me?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She blushes. "After what I just saw? Definitely," she mutters, twirling the water bottle nervously.
I pull out the pastries and chocolate and put them on a plate in front of her. She licks her lips and her eyes grow wide…oh fuck, it's all I can do not to launch myself at her and…
"Chocolate?" she asks, breaking my train of thought, but now, all I can think of is the multiple ways I could enjoy chocolate with her, on her...fuck…not helping, Cullen!
"Yeah chocolate and wine. They're very good together. Actually, would you like to see my wine collection?"
"Is that the pick up line you always use on women?" she asks, and just like that, the sarcasm I so enjoy is back.
"Seems to me that you're already in my apartment, Bella. I think I'm past using pick up lines at this point in the evening."
"Touché," she says, taking a sip of her water. I watch her lips circle the mouth of the bottle and I fucking almost lose it. She narrows her eyes at me and then looks down. "I didn't bring anything to change into. I didn't realize when you said you'd be painting me, you actually meant me."
"I'm full of surprises." I scowl as I look down at her. I'm sure she doesn't want to spend the rest of the night in paint covered clothes. I should have thought this through a bit more. "I can get you something to change into and you can wash off the paint in the bathroom, although I kind of like seeing you like this; with my brush strokes on you."
"You didn't just seriously say that, did you?" she asks, looking at me incredulously. "And what? So, you keep women's clothes on hand for situations like this?"
"No. I've never had a situation like this before. I'm sure I have something you can put on." She raises an eyebrow to me. "I'll be right back." I launch up the stairs and into my closet, pulling out a Queen's T-shirt and a pair of black Nike running pants. Fuck, she's going to be wearing these, and my dick is practically ready to explode at that thought, which reminds me that I haven't even taken time to give myself some form of release today in this particular department. I seriously have no idea how I'm going to make it through the rest of the night.
She's leaning back against the counter, waiting for me when I come down the stairs. "Is this ok?" I ask, handing her the clothes.
She smiles and nods her head in acceptance while she turns the clothes over in her hands. "Yeah, this will do, I guess." She stares back at me, waiting…what is she waiting for? "Do you have somewhere I can change or did you want to watch?" she asks, enjoying the fact that I seem to be completely clueless right now.
"Do I get a choice?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. She returns a similar look and I know I'm pushing my luck now. "Bathroom is down the hall." I nod my head towards it and watch while she disappears into the bathroom, trying to keep the image out of my head of her changing.
I move back to the loft, washing off the paint from my hands and arms in the bathroom sink. There's just no way this is coming out of my hair. I need to take a shower. I'm a total disaster, absolutely covered in paint, and I can't very well cook dinner like this.
I turn on the shower and rid myself of my paint splattered clothes, my dick springing free and pleading with me while I get into the shower. Ok, so it has been almost a full day since I have given myself any form of release, but I don't want to waste time with fantasy-Bella, when real-Bella is actually here…getting naked…and putting on my clothes. Fuck, my hand drifts lower, and if my dick could scream, you would hear it half way across the city.
I move the temperature to blast myself with cold water, which tames the beast only marginally. I get out and dry off, wrapping the towel around my waist while I pull out a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt from the closet. I dress quickly and make my way back downstairs.
The sight at the counter tests the last bit of control I think I have. Bella is chopping vegetables, her hair piled up haphazardly on top of her head, some wayward strands dangling in her face, her hips swaying to some tune she's got playing only in her head. She has the t-shirt tied up into a knot at her waist, revealing only a sliver of her porcelain stomach, and making me really, really wish I could see more. The oversized pants are rolled over several times at the waist and hang precariously, like if she makes one wrong move, they're going to fall right off of her. Fucking hell. I've stopped breathing all together. I'm pretty sure I hear my dick whimper.
"Oh, you showered," she says, looking up from the vegetables and quirking her head to the side. "You know, some warning on the painting would have been nice."
"Sorry, inspiration hit me. It happens sometimes."
"This chocolate is good," she praises, lifting her eyes to the plate.
"Oh, you're supposed to have it with Port," I say, walking into the kitchen and pulling out two wine glasses and a decanter from the cupboard. She looks at me skeptically. "Oh, please don't tell me you don't know what Port is, Bella."
She blushes and resumes cutting the vegetables. "I don't know anything about wine, Edward. Actually, that's a lie. I know I like it," she says firmly.
"Then you'll love this. Come." I hold out my hand to her, and she puts the knife down, wiping her hand down the t-shirt before placing it in mine.
"Some other mystery reveal you want to show me?" she asks sarcastically.
I laugh and pull her past the living room, stopping at the large double French doors. "This…is my wine room." I open the doors and she rolls her eyes at me, her mouth quickly gaping open when the lights come on automatically as she steps into the room.
"Holy shit, Edward. Are you even allowed to have this much wine? You could rival the liquor store," she marvels.
It's actually not that big of a collection, I mean, its impressive, I guess, but I know people who have ten times this much wine. Customized birch wooden racks, run floor to ceiling, the recessed lighting illuminating the room. A single rolling ladder that I can pull across from one side of the rack to the other sits in the corner, waiting. She walks further into the room, running her fingers along the bottles housed within the diamond shaped cubes beside the ladder.
"The chocolate out there will taste better with a Port," I explain. I drag the ladder across to the middle of the rack and climb up, selecting the Romariz Tawny twenty year old from the top. "This one, actually." I descend back down and hand her the bottle. "It's perfect for chocolate."
She turns the bottle over in her hands and shrugs her shoulders. "So, you know wine, too, eh?"
I should have known she wouldn't be the least bit impressed about this. "Yeah, I know a bit."
"How did you learn…never mind. I don't think I want to know," she says quietly, scowling and studying the bottle closely.
I cup her chin and tilt her face up to me. I know exactly what she's thinking…that I learned this to try and impress women, which couldn't be further from the reality. "I learned from my Mom, actually. She never let me have any wine, of course, but she and Dad were always having dinner parties and stuff, and I would help her in the kitchen," I explain. "She taught me how to cook, too." She stares up at me, her mouth hanging open in disbelief, it seems. "What?"
"I didn't picture you to be a help-out-mom-in-the-kitchen kind of guy," she says softly, and once again, I'm floored. She is so unlike anyone I've ever been with before. Women are usually all over the wine room. It's usually some sort of a turn on. There's something intriguing, I guess, about a guy who knows all about wine. Bella, of course, isn't impressed with the fact that I have thousands of dollars of wine sitting in a custom made wine room, but is impressed because I spent countless hours in the kitchen with my Mom. I wish she was still here. I wish she could have met Bella. She would have loved her.
"I'm full of surprises, remember?" I usher her back to the doors, letting my hand drift to the small of her back. She shivers slightly under my touch, and I resist the urge to take her right here…in the wine room…right beside a vintage bottle of Penfolds St. Henri Shiraz which would taste divine as I let it drip slowly out of the bottle and onto her breasts…I'm not going to make it through the night. There's just no fucking way.
We return to the kitchen, me with a permanent hard on, that there is no use in even attempting to hide, where I open the Port and pour it into the decanter to let it breathe. She eyes me curiously. "It just needs to breathe for a bit. It tastes better that way…well, I think it does, anyway," I murmur.
She nods her head and I fish out a pot from the cupboard, filling it with water for the pasta. "What can I do to help?" she asks.
"Do you want to put on some music?" I suggest, putting the pot on the stove and turning it on.
"That would mean I would have to go into your studio…alone. Am I allowed to do that?" she asks, giving me a playful smile.
"You can go into my studio any time you want, Bella." She shakes her head and moves towards the stairs. "I have a CD player and another iPod down here," I say, nodding towards the living room.
"Of course you do," she says, clearly unimpressed. I watch her glorious ass as she moves to the stereo equipment and my CD collection, wondering what she's going to pick. I don't have the typical latest hits, mostly because I can't stand the majority of them. I prefer classical music and what most people consider the old standards, even though there is nothing old about them. Ray Charles, Tony Bennett, and Sinatra, timeless really.
She cocks her head to the side and runs her fingers over the CDs on the built in bookshelf beside the fireplace. Oh, I want to be under her fingertips, fuck…to feel them on my chest, my back, my…
"Ray Charles ok?" she asks, bringing me out of my fantasy.
"You like Ray Charles?"
"Yeah. My dad taught me to dance to Ray Charles," she says, putting the CD in the player and waiting for it to shut.
"I thought you didn't dance."
"I haven't since the accident," she mutters, biting her bottom lip while the first bars of Ray's masterpiece fill the loft.
You give your hand to me
And then you say, "Hello."
And I can hardly speak,
My heart is beating so.
She looks over to me and I make my way slowly to her, her eyes sad, but wanting, pleading almost. "Why not? Why haven't you danced?" I ask quietly.
And anyone can tell
You think you know me well.
Well, you don't know me.
No you don't know me.
"Because it's too intimate, too personal. I don't like people getting that close," she says, almost whispering.
"Bella, I think we crossed the line of getting too close a few hours ago when I painted your breasts." Her mouth falls open and she brushes her tongue along her bottom lip while she stares up at me.
No you don't know the one
Who dreams of you at night;
And longs to kiss your lips
And longs to hold you tight
"I'm not as fluid as I used to be, you know, with my leg," she says urgently, throwing another excuse at me.
"You seem to be able to run with this Jacob friend of yours, who I had the distinct pleasure of meeting this morning."
"That's just running, Edward. It's not that complicated. Dancing requires more coordination, I have to think about every little move, to make sure I wouldn't…" I silence her ramblings and place my fingers over her mouth.
"Stop thinking and just dance. I won't let you fall," I whisper.
"I don't want you to have to hold me up. That's the point. I want to do be able to do it by myself," she says, her face set in that determined way I've come to crave. While Ray croons out his plea, I stare down at her, willing the wall to come down.
For I never knew the art of making love,
Though my heart aches with love for you.
Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by.
A chance that you might love me too.
"Ok, then. You lead." She looks up at me, her chin quivering, while she tries to hold it together, and very slowly, she places her hand on my shoulder. My eyes close involuntarily at the feeling of her touching me, and I wrap my arm around her tiny waist, my hand resting on the rolled up fabric of the running pants, my fingers lightly brushing her exposed skin. She takes an audible breath in, and I pull her closer to me, taking her other hand in mine and holding it to my chest. "Whenever you're ready," I murmur, staring down at her.
She shuts her eyes, and as Ray belts out You Don't Know Me, she starts to sway, slowly at first, me trying to keep it together by biting down so hard on my bottom lip I'm sure its going to bleed, and her, her brow furrowed in concentration.
You give your hand to me,
And then you say, "Goodbye."
She feels so amazing, just rocking against me, until I feel her finally relax and she tentatively starts to move, a little awkwardly at first, but soon, we are making the circuit around my square coffee table, her leading the whole way. Her brow slowly relaxes and a soft smile plays across her lips before she rests her head on my chest.
Fucking hell, I'm really, really trying not to launch myself at her. I know how important this is to her, how far we've come tonight.
Oh, you'll never ever know
The one who loved you so.
No, you don't know me.
"Appropriate song, eh?" I offer. "You're a wonderful dancer, by the way."
"Hmmm," she murmurs into my chest. Fuck, she's shaking while she moves her arm up my shoulder and around my neck, and I tighten my grip around her waist. She pulls back and looks up at me, silent tears falling. She stops abruptly, before the song is over.
"Bella, don't cry…unless they're happy tears?"
She nods her head. "They are," she sniffs out. "Thank you, Edward."
I bring my hand up from her waist and gently brush the tears away with my thumb. "We'll dance more often. All night if you want," I offer, and I'm only half joking. I will do whatever she wants me to.
She laughs quietly. "I'd like that," she mumbles. She reaches up and takes my hand from her face, kissing the palm before letting it go and wrapping her arm around my neck.
She pulls down softly on my neck, gently brushing her lips to mine, which of course, is my signal to groan and deepen the kiss, my hands running up her back, pressing her even closer to me while I feel the blood burn through my veins. She pushes me back slightly, my knees hitting the couch, and I drop into it, pulling her with me. For the love of God…instead of straddling me, like I've imagined her doing so many times before, she sits down beside me, her hands moving into my hair. What is it about my hair? I've never understood why it seems to be so fascinating.
I'm pretty sure I'm groaning out loud, because she sinks back into the couch, breaking the kiss and quirks an eyebrow to me. "Did you just growl?" she asks shyly.
"I told you, I can hardly control myself around you, Bella."
"Then don't." I brush her hair behind her shoulder and look back at her questioningly. "Don't try to control yourself," she murmurs.
My breathing hitches and every muscle in my body coils. I skim my nose down her jaw and move to claim her delicious lips again. "Edward?"
"Hmmm," I think I say. My brain has completely detached from the rest of my body, and I'm operating on pure instinct, want and feeling, one of my many fantasies coming to life right here, right now.
"Is that the water overflowing on the stove?" she asks.
"Wha…what?" The track on the CD changes and Ray starts to belt out Night Time is the Right Time.
"Do you not hear that?" she asks, pushing me back slightly and turning towards the kitchen.
I try to refocus my brain, and then, distinctly hear water hitting the element and sizzling. "Shit!" I bolt from the couch and make my way into the kitchen, where the water is boiling over, spewing out of the pot and onto the cooktop. "Fuck, this never happens to me," I grumble. I must look like a complete idiot.
Her beautiful laughter fills the kitchen while she walks to the counter, watching me in amusement. "First time for everything, I guess," she says.
I scowl at the pot before removing it from the stove. "I can't even boil water around you."
She laughs and watches, while I clean off the stove and place the pot back on the element.
"Maybe we should hit the wine," she suggests, lifting her head to the decanter on the counter.
I nod my head and pour us two glasses. I move to her and hold one of the pieces of chocolate to her lips. "Take a bite," I instruct. Her tongue darts out between her lips before she wraps them around the chocolate and takes a bite. Love of God. I take a step back from her and watch as she shuts her eyes and chews slowly. "Now, sip." She opens her eyes, and I hand her the wine glass. She takes a sip of the Port, her eyes growing wide as she swallows loudly.
"Oh my God! That's really good. It is better with the Port," she gushes, taking another sip and staring up at me.
"Well, technically, we're supposed to be having the dessert and the Port after the main course."
"You were the one who put it out in front of me, just tempting me to take it," she reminds me.
Oh well, that's just too easy. "What else can I tempt you with?" I ask, putting another piece of chocolate in front of her mouth.
"I'm starting to understand why you're still single, if these are the lines you're using," she says mockingly, clearly putting me in my place. She bites down on the chocolate, her lips brushing my fingers gently before she takes a step back from me. She sips the wine, glancing up at me from behind the glass, and I stifle a groan. "So, you learned wine from your Mom, what did you learn from your Dad?'
"How to be an asshole," I say bitterly, immediately regretting it. Her eyes grow wide. "That's not entirely true. But, after my mom died, he kind of lost it and we just sort of stopped talking. We really drifted apart after university and I thought he had given up on me, until yesterday," I explain.
"What happened yesterday?"
"I saw him for the first time in almost two years. He was being treated for cancer all this time and he kept it from me," I say softly, still reeling from that little revelation he dropped on me.
"Edward, I'm sorry. That must have been hard for you and for him."
"It was…it is. He says they got it all, so he just has to be monitored now. What about your Dad?" I ask, knowing I'm pretty much emotionally done at this point, and actually, I want to hear more about her.
"He died shortly after my accident. Heart attack," she says, twirling the wine glass between her fingers.
"I'm sorry, Bella. And your Mom?" I'm almost afraid to ask.
"She's good…a little crazy sometimes, but good. She would enjoy the fact that you can cook, actually," she says, laughing. "She's a bit of a disaster in the kitchen."
"Well, maybe I'll have to cook for her sometime."
She smiles over top of the wine glass and takes a large sip. "Do you cook for women a lot?" she asks quietly.
"I haven't lately. I used to cook for Angela when we lived together."
"It was serious with her, then?"
"I thought it was," I admit, shaking my head.
'What happened, then?"
"I found her fucking one of her grad students in our bed," I say flatly.
"Oh, God! Are you serious?" She looks horrified.
"Oh, yeah. I'm serious. I essentially turned into a prick after that, Bella. I haven't exactly been a saint," I admit.
"Edward, you don't have to…" Her voice trails while she watches me refill her wine glass.
"Actually, I do. You should know. I've been living a pretty fucked up life for a while. After my Mom died, my Dad went on this kick of bringing home different women all the time…like every night. After I found Angela with…whatever his name was, I just started to be with random women, thinking that was some sort of solution, or a way to get back at her or something. I don't want to be that person anymore, Bella."
"You don't?" she asks, looking at me skeptically
"No, I don't. I want more of this. Of you."
"You do?"
"Yeah, I do. More than you can possibly imagine." She stares back at me doubtfully. "People can change, Bella. You just have to give them a chance."
While we stand in my kitchen, our eyes locked, Ray filling the silence, I can only pray that she'll give me that chance.
Chapter End Notes:
Oh, what's our Bella thinking now?
Twitter: CarLemon
Discover the pure genius that is Ray Charles. You Don't Know Me. Lyrics by Cindy Walker and Eddy Arnold, 1956
www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=L-5LwRinkJ0&feature=related
Night Time is the Right Time. Lyrics by Roosevelt Sykes and Leroy Carr, 1937www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=E4rG4GRTVB4
Johann Strauss II. - Geschichten aus dem Wiener Wald www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=poAb0MhEvmk